


2017 wip wrap-up by w-anderingheart ♡ | drabble package #6

by w_anderingheart



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Angst, Canon, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, WIP, happy new yearrrrr, the last one is so fluffy i almost threw up, these are all unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-25 19:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13219476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w_anderingheart/pseuds/w_anderingheart
Summary: it’s 2018 tomorrow and i realized i hadn’t posted any new fics all year. (yikes) i did write a considerable amount in 2017, but most of it went into a novel-length baeksoo (*screams*) and other larger projects, which all remain unfinished. now that school and life and non-fandom writing is taking up more time, i don’t see myself getting around to finishing most of these old wips any time soon so i figure i can share them as they are. (minus the baeksoo novel. I'm still holding on to that.)also i know this is a “drabble” package but some of these are quite long OOPSmay 2018 be filled with more hope and kindness. <3best,wanderingheartTABLE OF CONTENTSCh 1. wenyeol wip (pairing: wendy/chanyeol)Ch 2. mystery of love (pairing: kyungsoo/jongin, kyungsoo/iu)Ch 3. on memory, nostalgia, loneliness (pairing: soojung-centric, broken!soojung/jongin)Ch 4. between you and me (pairing: kyungsoo/jongin) *note: this one is kinda longCh 5. cloud 9 (pairing: kyungsoo/jongin)





	1. untitled (wenyeol wip)

_a/n: sassy wendy doesn’t want to do a rap stage. (inspired by[this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UefKlSICKWg) performance.)_

 

She takes the offer the way she does most offers—not really wanting to take it at all. Of course, her manager tells her about it, as he tells her most things—without much room to refuse.

“I don’t understand why they’re giving this to _me_.” That’s what she tells Seulgi. Which is only a half-lie. She can see where the company is coming from (It was a toss-up between her and Seulgi because no way sweet-faced Irene, Joy or Yeri was going to do a hip hop stage.), but it doesn’t change the fact that Wendy doesn’t rap. She doesn’t even _like_ rap. 

“I don’t rap,” she states, but not to anyone who cares.

“You sound like you’re complaining,” is Seulgi’s reply. She throws her a look, a mixture of expressions. Unimpressed, doubtful. Amused. Wendy frowns.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like…” Wendy makes a gesture with her hands. “Like _that_. Like this is funny.”

“It’s kind of funny, though.” Seulgi hugs a pillow to her chest. She’s sitting on Wendy’s bed, which Wendy doesn’t like much, but she lets it slide this time because she’s too tired to care.

Instead, she sprawls herself out onto the floor, closing her eyes. The lights overhead burn through her eyelids but she thinks she could fall asleep like this.

Seulgi kicks her foot. “Have you ever talked to Chanyeol-oppa?” she asks curiously. Wendy throws her arm over her eyes. “To be honest, I’m a little jealous of you. I think he’s my favourite EXO member.”

“How could you possibly come to that conclusion?” Wendy says. “They’re literally all the same person. Multiplied nine times.” Also a half-lie. She herself has a favourite member, sort of. The short, quiet one with the two letter stage name once lent her 20,000won when she realized she forgot her wallet, half-way down the elevator.

But she still doesn’t like them enough to memorize even that one member’s two-letter stage name.

“You really _are_ a Westerner,” Seulgi comments. Wendy can hear the consideration in her voice. 

She sits up, then. The hardwood has made her spine ache. She doesn’t really understand what Seulgi means, but then again, she doesn’t understand most things people say about her so she supposes, it doesn’t matter.

They turn the lights out early, and Wendy sleeps dreamless.


	2. mystery of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a/n: canon future murder mystery fic in which kyungsoo has long since left exo following the strange disappearance of IU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from "mystery of love" by sufjan stevens. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbWTnIRkpiI)

april 2023.

It’s nighttime when Kyungsoo lands in Incheon. He doesn’t wake up until the flight attendant comes by and places a gentle palm on his shoulder, reminding him to fasten his seatbelt. He’s flying Air Canada this time and he thanks the lady in crisp English before peeking out the window and glancing carefully at the city below him. At this hour, it’s nothing more than a scattering of lights across a black ocean, bright dots bobbing and blinking on the dark surface like lost ships as the plane makes its descent. It sends a ripple down his spine – a strange sense of longing or trepidation or some mix of both.

The air is warm when he steps out of the airport. It is April after all, but there had still been snow on the ground when he’d left Ottawa. He unwinds his scarf and unzips his jacket; he’d almost forgotten that winter dies a lot sooner over here.

“Might still want to keep that face wrapped up in your scarf,” says a voice to his left. “Or else the country’ll know the prodigal son has returned.”

Kyungsoo leans against his luggage – just one medium-sized suitcase, with room to spare. This is supposed to be a quick trip, anyways. He smiles when he sees Chanyeol; Chanyeol’s mood was always infectious like that. Everything about him is the same, except maybe his cheeks are less sullen and his hair (stark red the last time they’d seen each other) is now pure and black.

“It’s kind of humid,” Kyungsoo replies, rubbing a hand over his neck. “Definitely too hot for a scarf.”

Chanyeol is wearing a face mask, tucked beneath his chin so that Kyungsoo can see him grinning brightly, twirling his car keys around his finger. “ _This_ is humid?” Chanyeol chuckles. “Yikes. I think you need some warmer weather to thaw the ice out of your soul.” He grabs Kyungsoo’s luggage and leads him across the parking lot to his car. Kyungsoo elbows him without force, out of habit more than anything, and Chanyeol makes an overdramatic reaction, but the walk is relatively quiet. Kyungsoo can hear the wind whistle.

“How is Hyemi?” he asks, after fumbling for her name in his head for a minute.

Chanyeol nods. “She’s good. We’re both great.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t know what to say after that, so he says nothing until they’ve reached the car. Once or twice, he glances over his shoulder just to see if there’s even one camera pointed at them, but no one has even glanced in their direction.

“You know,” says Kyungsoo, as Chanyeol tosses Kyungsoo’s suitcase into the trunk, “I actually don’t think the country cares too much about their prodigal son.”

Chanyeol laughs sharply, shutting the trunk closed and smacking his hands together. “Oh no, trust me,” he says as they slide into the car, “They care. They always will. Wait for this sun to rise and for a camera to find you.” He takes off his face mask and tosses it to Kyungsoo. His smile is so familiar, Kyungsoo thinks suddenly – the glue that used to patch up their dumb arguments, all those years ago. 

Chanyeol sighs and starts the engine. “‘Return from hiding’, ‘Back from the shadows’ – those make nice headlines. People love a good mystery, Kyungsoo.” The car roars and lights up, and then they’re pulling away from the airport and towards the city.

Kyungsoo eyes the face mask in his lap for two seconds before he slips it on and up, over his mouth and nose. They approach Seoul, its lights stretching before them until they’re swallowed up in its noise and glamour.

 

 

 

Chanyeol walks Kyungsoo up to his hotel room. It was bizarre to be staying in a hotel in Seoul; like sleeping in the guest room of your own house. But Kyungsoo wasn’t ready to see his parents yet and he certainly was not going to take Chanyeol up on his offer to stay with him and Hyemi. He’d already troubled Chanyeol enough, asking to pick him up from the airport.

They crack open some beer and brandy, and talk back and forth until 3AM, mostly about mindless stuff like the weather and the time zone difference. Chanyeol gets drunk first but Kyungsoo follows not too long after.

“I should get home,” Chanyeol hiccups, “Long day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo sighs. His fingers twitch. He’s itching for a cigarette, strangely enough, even though he hasn’t smoked since high school, since pre-debut almost.

Chanyeol stands up, pressing the heel of his palm to his temple. “Fuck, I gotta get a cab now. Drive my car to my house tomorrow, okay? I’ll text you my address and we can go together to the venue. If you want, that is.”

“Sure,” mumbles Kyungsoo. The floor tilts for a moment and he steadies himself as he tries to walk Chanyeol to the door. Chanyeol shoos him away.

“I can go myself. You,” he jabs his finger into Kyungsoo’s chest, “get some fucking sleep. Okay? If you’re hungover at the wedding, I’m sending you home before Dispatch even knows you’re there. D’ya hear me?”

Kyungsoo’s head pounds, sudden and violent, and he groans and fumbles his way onto the bed. “I heard you. Loud and clear, Happy Virus.”

Chanyeol doesn’t say anything after that. Or maybe Kyungsoo passes out before Chanyeol’s left. Either way, the world blurs, then fades, and Kyungsoo passes into a long slumber.

 

 

 

In the end, he does not go to the wedding hungover but he is, in fact, maybe a little drunk – drunk enough that his mind and body feel detached, but not enough for Chanyeol to notice. The ceremony passes in one long blur, like a smear of paints dragged along a canvas; Kyungsoo isn’t quite aware when one minute ends and another begins, but he just goes along with it, keeping his face neutral and smiling when other people smile.

At the reception, the nine of them are lined up at the front of the banquet hall, squished together in front of a row of cameras, reporters and photographers hollering at them and throwing hand signals. They pose with their thumbs up, smiles pressed into their faces. Kyungsoo stares ahead with his gaze fixed on the camera flash, as if no time had even passed. 

Only Sehun, who’s standing at the end of the line, shows any indication that Kyungsoo hasn’t spoken to most of them in over a year. Sehun’s eyes had flickered briefly with confusion when they had met Kyungsoo’s, but then Joonmyeon’s voice had yelled, “ _We are one_!—“ and something about those three words breaks the moment like a spell, bending all of them into a bow instinctively.

Kyungsoo is sandwiched towards the middle of the line, between Chanyeol and Jongin. There is a conscious sliver of air separating Kyungsoo and Jongin, and when the cameras disperse, Kyungsoo shakes Jongin’s hand like this whole event was a business affair – which, if they were all being honest, it sort of is.

“Congratulations,” Kyungsoo tells him, holding his gaze for a solid second and a half before the firmness of Jongin’s stare makes Kyungsoo teeter. “Soojung looks radiant. I’m happy for you guys.”

Jongin’s lips press together. He looks so boy-ish in his tuxedo, Kyungsoo can hardly believe he’s a groom. His hair colour is a chestnut brown, gelled slickly to the side and cropped close to his face. About a year ago, Kyungsoo remembers it being dirty blond and shaggy in the front. He also remembers the way the blood and sweat had plastered Jongin’s hair to his forehead, the last time they’d seen each other – a wild, crooked, and pained smile splitting Jongin’s face. The remnants of that car wreckage — the smell of damp pavement and sharp metal; the look in Jongin’s eyes, as if Kyungsoo was the only person he’d ever look at for the rest of his life — have never really left Kyungsoo’s mind.

But it’s different now. Jongin’s shoulders are rigid beneath his suit jacket, as if all his muscles have been pulled taut and screwed tightly in place. “Thank you for being here,” Jongin says, in reply.

Kyungsoo shrugs, clapping Jongin’s arm fondly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s your wedding, after all.”

Jongin blinks at him for a long second. His shoulders deflate, and then he nods slowly. “Well,” he says, inhaling with a resigned sort of calmness that Kyungsoo thinks he never would have seen from Jongin before, “We both know that’s not true. But thank you all the same, hyung.”

The groom excuses himself to return to his other guests, joining Soojung across the hall, from where she’d been sparing a comment or two to a reporter. She takes his hand, they disappear into the crowd, and Kyungsoo heads off to the bar to take a shot before slipping out a side door onto the city streets.

 

 

 

Duty was a curious thing. Gloriously unshakeable, impossibly stubborn, built into the bloodstream. All it took for Kyungsoo to book a flight to Seoul was a single e-mail from Joonmyeon: _Jongin’s getting married_. No subject line and nothing else attached to the message other than a date, location and time. (Although when Kyungsoo hadn’t replied after a week, Joonmyeon did send a follow up e-mail that had had the airy tone of a thin threat. Ever the perfectionist.) 

Kyungsoo had taken a long walk once he’d read the e-mail, to clear his head in the cool air. But that night, he’d hauled out his suitcase from under the bed anyways, because Kyungsoo may have ended his contract with SM, but that didn’t break his bonds to EXO’s brand.

He is about to hail down a cab when he hears the door open behind him. He almost knows it is Baekhyun before he even turns around. And this is was not the way Kyungsoo wanted to end his night.

“You came,” Baekhyun says. His suit is a sleek, dark blue-grey shade. With his copper-coloured hair and eyes rimmed with careful makeup, he looks almost ready to perform. Kyungsoo used to envy how easily the pretty boy charm was for Baekhyun. It made him to impossible to read sometimes.

Maybe Kyungsoo still envies it, a little. “Do you really have such little faith in me, Baekhyun? I feel like I should be insulted.”

“Hey,” Baekhyun places a firm hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know that.”

A taxi appears from around the corner and hurdles towards them, but Kyungsoo lets it pass. Baekhyun extends his arm so that he’s got Kyungsoo clutched in a one-armed side hug. “I’m _happy_ you’re here, Kyungsoo. It’s been too long.”

“I didn’t come because I missed anyone,” Kyungsoo replies, bluntly.

Baekhyun lets out a sincere laugh. “Oh, I know,” he says. “But you still came out to the most important EXO event in years, even though your contract doesn’t exist anymore. I love when you decide to use your heart.” 

Kyungsoo pulls apart his bowtie, fiddling with the buttons at his collar. It’s amazing how time can fold in on itself, as though it’s disappeared. It’s even scarier how quickly — how easily — Kyungsoo can fall back into the careful posture of the celebrity he once was, and split his mouth into the camera-ready smile he knows will grace at least a two-page spread of countless tabloids.

“Don’t get too excited,” mutters Kyungsoo. He pats Baekhyun’s hand once before shrugging out of his hug. “I think a part of my eighteen-year-old self always knew I’d be signing away my soul. I’m over it.” Chanyeol had been right at the airport. Kyungsoo had been naive to think the news outlets wouldn’t care about him coming back to Seoul.

“Well then, now that Chanyeol and Jongin are both hitched, I expect to see you at the next six EXO weddings,” Baekhyun comments. He reaches for something in the inside pocket of his suit. Kyungsoo expects him to take out a pack of cigarettes but it’s just chewing gum. Maybe he’s quit.

Kyungsoo shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. Another empty taxi sails past them. “I’m not making promises. I only came today because—“ he pauses. He hadn’t thought about the last half of that sentence before he’d started saying it. Baekhyun lifts a groomed eyebrow.

“Because it’s Jongin, sure,” Baekhyun says, casually. It’s very plain, the way he phrases it, but Kyungsoo doesn’t have a better way to put it so he says nothing. It was true anyways and Kyungsoo was too lazy to deny it tonight. He did almost anything for Jongin. He almost renewed his contract for him. Almost stayed.

“Where’re you staying right now?” asks Baekhyun.

“No where,” replies Kyungsoo. Baekhyun looks startled. “Well, no—like, a hotel, I mean.”

“A hotel? Are you a tourist?”

“I sold my apartment when I left, Baek.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have left.”

Kyungsoo scoffs lightly. “What?”

“Stay in Seoul. Come back home,” Baekhyun shrugs, as if he’s recommending a good restaurant and not suggesting that Kyungsoo return to the lion’s den.“At least here, you’re not in some far away cave.”

“Do you _know_ where Ottawa is? It’s the capital of Canada,” Kyungsoo offers. It’s small, yes, and perhaps a very rigid, grey city. But it isn’t a cave. And even if it was, at this point, Kyungsoo had no problem with caves. 

“Just—“ Baekhyun’s tongue peeks out, sliding between his lips. He might be hard to read but Kyungsoo still thinks he can recognize worry on Baekhyun’s face, when Baekhyun lets his guard down. It appears sometimes, at the crease in his forehead and in the soft tension of his furrowed eyebrows.

“You think I’ll go insane if I’m so far away, so alone,” Kyungsoo fills in. It’s not a question. 

“No, of course not,” Baekhyun’s furrowed eyebrows furrow even more. “Just— why wouldn’t you want to be closer to… your friends? Screw paparazzi. They’ll lose interest in you eventually.” He takes a deep breath. “It can all be okay again.”

But Kyungsoo knows he’s right. Baekhyun, genuinely, is worried Kyungsoo will lose his sanity. And if Kyungsoo was being honest with himself, Baekhyun isn’t unreasonable for believing that. No one but Baekhyun had mastered the ability of seeing when Kyungsoo was on the edge of imploding. There was nothing he could do about it.

“You know why I can’t come back, Baekhyun.” Seoul is filled with too many ghosts. “I haven’t given up on finding her.”

Baekhyun holds Kyungsoo’s gaze, unblinkingly. Kyungsoo counts three whole heartbeats. Baekhyun opens his mouth, “Kyungsoo, listen. Maybe—“

Another taxi appears down the street and this time, Kyungsoo sticks his hand out and flags it down. It finally stops at the edge of the curb. Baekhyun’s eyes are shining; the reflection of the city lights. Kyungsoo reaches out with one hand, places his palm against Baekhyun’s cold, smooth cheek. 

“She’s out there. Somewhere. But it’s not here in Seoul.”

Baekhyun shivers under the touch. Kyungsoo lifts his lips to Baekhyun’s ear.

“And I’m going to find her.”

 

 

 

four years earlier. / february 2019.

When Korea’s sweetheart and vocal princess, IU, announces a complete promotional halt, it shakes the entire entertainment industry. The indefinite hiatus came on the heels of the biggest rise in success she’d seen since her debut, over a decade ago.

In the summer of 2017, her fifth full-length studio album claimed top spots on international music charts. The music video of her title song went viral. Within that year half the album was translated into English, and almost immediately she was performing on every American day-time and late show program. She sold out several music halls across North America and by the time 2018 had concluded, IU had solidified herself as one of the most prominent contemporary artists in the Asian music scene.

But then, this. 

Kyungsoo sees it on the news one morning. It’s a slow morning because EXO has nothing scheduled today. He was the first one up in the dorms, and as he watches the report on the TV, his chest gets tighter. Not even he’d known about this. She hadn’t mentioned it to him even once.

Had she discussed it with someone else?

Baekhyun appears in the living room, in wrinkled sweatpants and no shirt. His face is pressed with lines from his bedsheets as he drops into the couch beside Kyungsoo.

“You got breakfast?” he mumbles groggily.

Kyungsoo licks his lips, eyeing Baekhyun for a minute or two. “Did you…?” he says. His throat scratches and he tries again. “Did you know?”

“Hmm?”

Kyungsoo waits for him to read the headline on the TV screen. Baekhyun blinks, the fatigue leaving his eyes as he listens to the reporter. “A hiatus?” he murmurs.

“Did she tell you about this?” Kyungsoo presses.

Baekhyun shakes his head. After a pause, he adds, “Why would I have known?”

Kyungsoo falls back into the couch cushions, rolling his neck. “I was just asking, all right?”

The reporter moves on to the next story. And to the next, and then a commercial. Baekhyun clears his throat. His voice is careful. “Look, Kyungsoo—“

But Kyungsoo’s already heading into the kitchen to make breakfast. “I said I was _just_ _asking_.”


	3. on memory, nostalgia, loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a/n: soojung reflecting on the past — an old relationship and a lost friendship. written after sulli’s departure and before kaistal Actually Happened

Soojung catches sight of herself in the big screen that faces the audience. The camera has cut to her. She’s been asked a question, she knows; not because she’d actually heard someone ask a question, but because the hosts are staring at her with that feigned excitement variety show hosts always seem to master, and also because Victoria’s smile has tensed at the edges—scolding, but only Soojung can tell.

Her face is still on the big screen. She quirks her eyebrows and tries to look endearing. The audience laughs, so it works. Victoria’s shoulders loosen.

The question is redirected at one of the boy group members this time, and Soojung doesn’t even bother to catch it the second time around. She’s also distracted by Sunyoung’s hand, which reaches out to grab Soojung’s gently to pull her closer. Sunyoung clutches Soojung’s fingers tightly for a solid half-minute, like she’s making sure Soojung doesn’t pull away.

It isn’t until Sunyoung reluctantly lets go that Soojung realizes she’d been standing, unconsciously, a full foot away from the rest of the group. Leaving a space for Jinri.

Soojung pushes her hair back from her face, just to do something with her arms. She’s bored. There are eight idol groups gathered for this end-of-the-year game show filming, the broadcasting network’s desperate attempt to snag viewers, and the hosts are making thorough rounds of each group. Soojung had stopped paying attention about twenty seconds after her obligatory bow and accompanying, “Hello, I’m f(x)’s Krystal.”

At least the camera is off of her now, so she can make a face at Amber, who’s turned her head around just the slightest to check if Soojung is still spaced out. Amber, at least, returns Soojung’s look with a smile. Whether it’s real or not, Soojung doesn’t know, but under studio lights, smiles are all the same to her.

The boy groups huddle around to play some game that involves a bucket of water, which probably explains while they were all dressed in white shirts. Soojung pulls at her own shirt uncomfortably, and hopes that the girl groups don’t have to join in. On the opposite side of the stage, the hosts are interviewing EXO. They’ve been interviewing them for the past seven minutes, which is three minutes longer than what the rest of them got. Red Velvet is standing beside them, and the camera keeps cutting to them every time Joohyun lets out one of her pretty laughs.

Joonmyeon and Jongin are drying themselves with towels after dutifully being splashed with water in the last game. Jongin’s microphone set is hanging loosely around his neck. He fumbles trying to arrange it. Seulgi, who’s beside him, helps set it straight, lifting up his damp shirt to reattach the battery pack onto the back of his pants. Jongin doesn’t hide his smile when he thanks her. 

At the sight, the audience suddenly erupts in staggered cheers and giggles, which makes the hosts stop the whole interview to make a comment on them. The comment itself gets lost in Soojung’s ears. Sunyoung definitely lets out a sigh beside her, a quiet one or else her microphone would pick it up. Amber and Victoria look at Soojung in unison. She pretends not to notice.

Later, f(x) performs about a minute of ‘4 Walls’, and the rest of the filming is a blur. It’s dark outside by the time they are waiting for their manager to come around with the van. “That was fun,” Sunyoung says, tying her hair up. The dressing room is hot and smells a lot like hairspray. They had been sharing the room with one of the rookie groups because there were only so many rooms, and it was a bit of a tight squeeze. These are the sorts of things Soojung’s never bothered to care about before, and she hates that she notices them now.

“Do you think we’ll have lots of fans?” Jinri used to ask her, in the beginning. She always asked Soojung because Soojung was the bluntest of them all. But when it came to Jinri, bright-eyed and delicate Jinri, Soojung would always find herself replying, “Of course. We’re pretty, aren’t we?”

At first, Soojung never cared about things like album sales. Even when EXO debuted, she knew they were bound to be big and successful because it’s one thing to be a pretty girl, but it’s another thing to be a pretty _boy_. It’s never bothered her before. In fact, the modest size of their fan base was something she always sort of liked. Being the ‘not-as-popular’ group was never a bad thing to her.

But sometimes she wonders. Sometimes she thinks about when she and Jinri were fourteen, curled up under the same bed at night; Jinri’s soft, unshakeable voice whispering against Soojung’s ear, “Do you really think we’ll be famous?”

 

\---

 

The only reason the public doesn’t pick up on Jongin and Seulgi’s relationship quicker than they already do is because the two of them don’t leave the company building together for months. The first time they do though, Dispatch releases an article by the next day claiming their insiders have “broken” the Kai and Seulgi dating speculations. But at this point, it’s not news to anyone so SM doesn’t bother burying it, and the excitement of the scandal—if you could even call it that—dies down within the month.

The company decides to do an SM TOWN concert to start off the year, before everyone jets off to every part of the world for separate promotions. Half-way through rehearsal, people take their lunch breaks. Soojung sits at the edge of the stage, her feet dangling into the hole where a platform raises up from the bottom. She still remembers her first SM TOWN. She doesn’t think anyone forgets what it’s like to sing in a stadium for the first time. The seats seem to go on for ages.

It’s quiet, until the stage door opens. She hears Seulgi’s laugh, and then Jongin’s. She knows both of their laughs so well. Neither of them see her. Soojung watches Jongin take Seulgi’s hand and lead her up the side stairs to the stage. He places a hand on her waist, and she places one on his shoulder. They start waltzing silently, exchanging words Soojung can’t hear.

She stops watching them. They’ll notice her soon and it’ll be awkward, and then Soojung will have to convince them that it’s not awkward at all. And the thing is, it isn’t. Awkward is not the word. That year between releasing Red Light and 4 Walls, Soojung felt many things and nothing all at once. Lost, maybe. Angry too, but with nothing to direct her anger at because Jinri was gone and also because Soojung probably saw it all coming. Soojung traces back her memories, year by year, moment by moment and decides that yeah. Maybe she knew all along that she was signing up for a life with a future as wide and unpredictable as the sky. And that’s okay when you’re young, but idols have a very short life-span and some time past your mid-twenties, you have to start planning your retirement.

Seulgi sees Soojung first, and stops dancing. Soojung is the same age as them. They were all born in the same year, had overlapping classes as trainees even, and yet Soojung had always felt like she was aging at twice the speed. “ _Don’t debut young_ ,” Sooyeon had advised, but fifteen-year-old Soojung, surprised at seeing her older sister siding with their parents, had thoroughly ignored them.

_“Soojung-ah,”_ Sooyeon had spent twenty minutes knocking on the bathroom door. _“Soojung-ah, come on. Don’t be like this. You know I’m not trying to discourage you. Soojung-ah.”_

“Soojung-ah,” Seulgi calls out weakly, walking towards her. Jongin follows. Well, maybe it is a little awkward, Soojung supposes. But only because none of them have much down time anymore and she hasn’t talked to them, really talked to them, in a long time.

Their words are careful. Seulgi says stuff like “it’s been a while, how are you” and Jongin is more or less quiet but his jaw is tense, like whatever he wants to say is all clogged up at the back of his throat. Soojung feels a lot like that too, like there’s something pressing down on her chest and it gets heavier and heavier every day, and harder and harder to make sense of. Sunyoung had tried to put a word to it once: _“Lonely. You’re lonely, I get it. It’s okay—”_

“No,” Soojung says. “I’m fine, you guys. Stop looking guilty every time you hold hands in front of me.”

Jongin bites his lip. Soojung stands up with a sigh and brushes dirt off her pants. Whatever is pressing down on Soojung’s chest is something much bigger, much more evasive, than loneliness. She stares up into the stage lights. Countless times she’s stood on this stage, the warmth of these same lights on her face. Yet she feels, with all the certainty in her heart, something very different about this time. These lights on her powdered skin used to fill her up with purpose and promise. At least, she thought it was so. But it’s not the lights. It’s not the stadium. It’s not the crowd screaming her name, until it rattles her bones. These things lose its lustre over time.

Everyone is returning from lunch break, and somewhere, one of the crew members has shut off the electricity to fiddle with the spotlights. For a brief second, it’s pitch-black. Soojung closes her eyes and inhales.

She supposes that maybe it could be loneliness, that thing crawling up her bones and clawing at her heart. It’s just that loneliness means different things to different people. And Soojung’s is not Sunyoung’s version of loneliness, the one that thinks Soojung just wants Jongin back.

This is Soojung’s loneliness: watching people slip through the cracks in her life, the knowledge that it is better this way, and the fear of burning up under the stage lights in the wake of it all.

 

\---

 

Soojung dated Jongin for a long time. From sometime before he was Kai, to sometime after that name became his brand. She thinks it lasted so long because no one knew and many times she wondered what would happen if they were ever caught. Not that that would have ever happen because they never went out or touched or even spoke to each other in front of a camera.

Jinri knew, but that was because Soojung had told her. They were practicing for Electric Shock, just the two of them, when Jongin crept into the dance room quietly to give Soojung her phone. He placed it on the table by the door. Soojung noticed him and said, “Oh, so that’s where it was” and Jongin had shrugged and left without a word.

“Why did Jongin have your phone?” asked Jinri.

“I must have forgot it at the EXO-K dorms.” No one else had been there in the afternoon, so they’d spent it playing video games.

Jinri, who’d been lying down on the floor, sat up sharply. “Are you guys—?”

“We are.”

“Oh.” Soojung could tell Jinri was trying to replay memories in her head, looking for clues. “For how long?”

“The year before we debuted, maybe.”

“That’s four years,” Jinri said. She looked pensive. “How did he ask you?”

Soojung thought about it. “He didn’t, really. He just said ‘I really like you’ and I said I liked him too.”

“And that was that?”

“Pretty much.”

Jongin was the kind of person who could guess Soojung’s mood without having to speak. He’d hug her at the right times, play with her hair the way her sister used to. He talked about dumb shit for hours on end. Sometimes he’d come to f(x)’s dorm when Victoria, Amber and Sunyoung were all out. He’d bring Taemin, whenever Taemin could manage it, and Soojung would call up Seulgi too. Then the four of them, along with Jinri, would steal a beer from the fridge and they’d all split it and pretend they were doing something much more dangerous than they were. 

Jinri would always complain about just getting someone to buy them a whole pack, so they could actually get drunk. But Soojung never drank to get drunk. She drank because it made them all giggle a little at the ridiculousness, and she liked smiling over a plastic cup, watching her friends all be a little silly with her.

“This is going to be so stupid when we’re of age,” Jinri would say, shaking her head. Her cup was empty, so Soojung poured a little more of her own drink into Jinri’s.

“Well, we’re not yet,” Soojung would whisper back. “So pretend it isn’t stupid.” 

For now, at least.

 

\---

 

Her relationship with Jongin ends the way it had started: unbelievably underwhelming. After EXO wins their first trophy for Growl, Soojung texts him: _I’ll come over with drinks._

The energy in EXO’s dorms makes the air buzz. She shares a drink with all twelve of them, and then her and Jongin sit in Jongin’s room. She curls up on the bed, leaning against the wall. Jongin sits beside her. She rests her head on his shoulder. They are quiet for a few minutes. Then Jongin says, “You’ll always be important to me, Soojung.”

She pulls away slowly. Jongin is staring at the knuckles on his hands, lips opening and closing uncertainly. “We’re getting older, right? Lots of things can change in five years. I think it’s, you know, time—”

“Do you like someone else?” She doesn’t hear her own voice, but she figures it comes out rather sharp. Jongin swallows. Her eyebrows are furrowed, pulled in together tightly at the centre of her forehead. This is when the habit starts—her habit of re-tracing moments in her head, from the present backwards, like trying to follow a winding road back into the past.

“I like Seulgi.” When Soojung says nothing, he continues in a rush, “It’s just. You know… Something I’ve been thinking about.”

“All right. Well, that’s—” She licks her lips. Sooyeon’s voice plays in her head, something about how people change and grow apart and—well, Soojung doesn’t really remember the rest.

 

\---

 

It’s not that she was planning on spending her life with him. Of course not. No one marries the awkward kid they met when they were thirteen years old. But maybe she hadn’t expected the future to come so soon.


	4. between you and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kyungsoo, despite having a massive crush, takes his best friend’s roommate and NYC native, jongin, to his small hometown in barrie, canada for christmas break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** this wip is about 9k.
> 
> a/n: yay for canadian fic ♡ i wish i could have finished this one T__T i started it while i was in the middle of procrastinating my massive 100k baeksoo. i also wanted to write something a bit close to home. here are some kinda important side notes:
> 
> -feel free to search up the locations in this fic, if you want any more insight into the setting (i tried my best, but i wrote barrie/essa and europe entirely from memory. apologies for any lack of accuracy??)  
> -drinking age is 19 in ontario  
> -“toque” is a canadian term for what you would call knitted hats?? beanies? idk what this is called in other places????  
> -i dont mention it in the story but if you're curious, kaisoo attend u of t, at the st george campus but tbh idk anything about u of t lol sry

The end of fall term begins with a blizzard.

 

Kyungsoo shakes the snow off his shoes before he knocks on Sehun’s door. It’s awkward standing out there in the hallway with a takeout container of chicken souvlaki in one hand, and a box of condoms in the other. Sehun moves like a sloth on weekends. Kyungsoo huffs impatiently. His morning has been below average, to say the least. Sehun is “bedridden” with the common cold, and had forced Kyungsoo out on an errand, despite the snow storm.

 

Kyungsoo is still grumbling about it, as he swipes a hand through his snowflake-dusted hair. He pounds the door twice more with a hard fist, then kicks it for extra emphasis. A group of students chatting three rooms down shoot him a weird look.

 

The door swings open two minutes later. It’s not Sehun, though. It’s his roommate, Jongin. Kyungsoo suddenly wants to vanish. It’s much too early in the day to deal with Jongin Kim and his six feet of bronze perfection. Kyungsoo, by comparison, looks like a wet sock today. His below average morning has just descended into the fiery basement of hell.

 

“Kyungsoo-hyung?” Jongin looks, and sounds, very sleepy. Oh boy, his voice is like dripping honey. Kyungsoo pretends he didn’t just have that thought, and manages a smile.

 

“Hey, Jongin,” he says, very self-conscious about his Wet Sock Aesthetic™, but also very good at not showing it. Seniority helps him fake confidence, if he tries hard enough. Jongin is a freshman, after all. (A hot one, but still a freshman.) Kyungsoo’s got a year on him.“No dance practice for you today?” That’s where Jongin is _supposed_ to be on Saturday mornings. (Yes, of course, Kyungsoo knows his best friend’s roommate’s schedule. How else is he supposed to avoid him at all costs?)

 

“Nah, it’s the last day before the break starts. Everyone’s in holiday mode already,” Jongin says. He fusses nervously with his bed hair. He’s always so nervous around Kyungsoo. Sehun said it’s because Kyungsoo has a habit of glaring without realizing he’s glaring. (Which is beyond Kyungsoo’s control, really. Sometimes, he just forgets to wear his glasses and squints a lot. Get over it, Sehun.) 

 

“Clearly,” replies Kyungsoo. “It’s almost noon. You guys are still sleeping?” He peers around Jongin to find Sehun huddled up in his blanket, as stiff as a log.

 

Jongin chuckles. Smooth, smooth honey. “Hyung, only you wake up early on weekends,” he says, stepping aside to let Kyungsoo in. He throws him a lazy, cheeky grin, and Kyungsoo ignores the dumb resulting ~heart pound~ in his chest. It’s a very objective heart pound, Kyungsoo tells himself. Like, anyone’s heart would pound if grinned at so cheekily.

 

It doesn’t help that Jongin !!sleeps without a shirt!! even in the middle of Canadian winter. Kyungsoo makes a supreme effort to not ogle as he plops into Sehun’s desk chair. The bed is close enough that Kyungsoo can kick Sehun’s leg from where he sits, so Kyungsoo does just that. Sehun groans and rolls over.

 

“Wake up, kid, daylight’s burning,” Kyungsoo hollers.

 

“Soo, why are you screaming,” Sehun whines from under the blanket. “Jongin, why’d you let him in…”

 

Jongin is at his wardrobe, rifling for a shirt. Kyungsoo definitely doesn’t watch his back muscles moving. Definitely not. “Um, because he knocked?” Jongin replies, the sarcasm — as always — flying right over his innocent head. Kyungsoo, truly, has no idea how Jongin survives as Sehun’s roommate.

 

“Because I’m the hyung,” Kyungsoo tells Sehun, and flicks him in the ankle. Sehun yelps, or hisses, Kyungsoo can’t tell. “And I just ran you an errand in the middle of a blizzard. So get up and eat your freaking Greek chicken.”

 

“You got his favourite, huh,” Jongin says, laughing, and Kyungsoo doesn’t know if he’s referring to the chicken or the condoms. At least he has now located a shirt — hallelujah. But it doesn’t cover his arms, or face, or voice, or his swirling tattoo that trails up his neck and curls smoothly behind his ear. Kyungsoo is still so distracted. There’s no winning in this world. “You’re a very dedicated friend, hyung.” His eyes curve cutely with his smile, before drifting to the window. He catches a glimpse of the weather. “Damn, it’s really coming down hard outside. I can’t believe you went out in that.”

 

Kyungsoo crosses his legs, shrugging. “The snow’s been worse,” he replies. “And you know how annoying Sehun gets when he’s craving his favourite takeout.”

 

Jongin pulls a cardigan off one of his hangers. Yes, he uses hangers. He actually _puts away_ clean laundry instead of dumping it in various piles around his side of the room, unlike Sehun. He also smells like clean detergent _all the time_. (Why is Kyungsoo turned on by that? He’s turned on by The Dumbest shit. Do straight boys have it this hard? Kyungsoo always wonders.)

 

“He really made you buy his condoms for him too?” Jongin laughs shyly. Kyungsoo imagines him with an anime blush.

 

“Yeah, well,” mutters Kyungsoo, throwing his hands up helplessly. “He’ll forget to buy them himself, let’s be honest.” And Kyungsoo is not going to shoulder the guilt of Sehun getting a girl pregnant or something.

 

Jongin throws his cardigan on, smooth and suave like he’s in a commercial, but not in a douche-y way. Sometimes he reminds Kyungsoo of those Asian drama characters where the male lead is a rent-a-boyfriend robot — unnervingly flawless. Or, at least, Kyungsoo _would_ think that if Jongin wasn’t secretly such a dork with Pokémon plushies lined on his desk and windowsill. “You’re not even wearing a jacket, Kyungsoo-hyung,” Jongin pouts. (He pouts. He really does pout. It’s like a thing he actually does, without noticing.) “It’s minus twenty degrees today.”

 

“Ah, the Greek place isn’t that far,” Kyungsoo waves his hand. “And the convenience store is right beside it.”

 

“Still, though,” says Jongin, scratching his cheek. He’s got red creases across it from sleeping on one side too long. “You should bundle up. Sehun wouldn’t be happy. You’ll catch his cold.”

 

Kyungsoo chuckles. “You’re still picture-perfect healthy yourself,” he counters. “Considering Sehun’s been coughing around this room all week.”

 

Jongin’s pout deepens. ~Heart pound~ again. Kyungsoo looks away and ignores it. “I have a good immune system. Plus, I actually wear a coat when I go outside,” Jongin argues playfully. His cardigan is a deep, golden yellow and it pops against his olive skin. He’s tan, by Korean standards, and Kyungsoo — who’s paler than fresh snow — wishes he could tan like that without getting sunburnt.

 

“Fair enough, Kim Jongin,” Kyungsoo says teasingly, in Korean. Neither Jongin or Sehun speak Korean very well, but most times they understand Kyungsoo’s occasional one-liner jibes. Not that Kyungsoo is exactly fluent himself, but his grammar is passable and his vocabulary is average. Jongin always laughs when Kyungsoo switches to Korean, and yeah, Kyungsoo really likes his laugh, so what?

 

Sehun’s finally roused into a sitting position, spurred awake by the smell of tzatziki sauce in the air. Kyungsoo hands him the takeout container and Sehun pounces for it. “Glad you didn’t die out in the storm, Soo,” Sehun mumbles, munching happily on his chicken. “I was worried you’d get caught up in the tourist traffic and swallowed by the crowd. You’re so short. We’d lose you.”

 

Kyungsoo stretches on the chair, throwing his legs up onto Sehun’s cluttered desk. His math notes are sprawled out everywhere, folded in corners and stained with orange juice. “A group of tourists actually did stop me for directions to Nathan Philips Square,” he yawns. “As if you can miss a giant, colourful light-up sign that says TORONTO with an ice rink right beside it.”

 

“Have mercy on them, Kyungsoo,” Sehun rolls his eyes. He refuses to call Kyungsoo ‘hyung,’ for some stubborn reason.

 

Kyungsoo steals a sideways glance at Jongin, who is now shrugging on his winter coat and duffel bag. “I’m heading to the gym,” Jongin announces, stuffing the bag with fresh socks. Kyungsoo, as always, is torn between relief and disappointment. “Later, Sehunnie.” Jongin smiles at Kyungsoo one last time. “Bye, hyung.”

 

Kyungsoo gives him a two-fingered wave, and then Jongin is out the door.

 

Sehun chews loudly, smacking his lips. “You’re doing it again,” he laughs, nothing short of a nasally cackle.

 

Kyungsoo frowns. “Doing what?”

 

“Acting like a straight boy around Jongin.”

 

“I—“ Kyungsoo sputters, “I don’t—I’m— _totally myself_ —around him—“ He thinks he might burst a vein.

 

Sehun snorts. “You stuff yourself back into the closet whenever you walk into our room.”

 

Kyungsoo can’t even deny that. He groans. “We’ve been over this, Sehun,” he mutters, pushing his hair back. It’s damp from melted snow. “Straight boys get weird around non-straight boys. They suddenly, I dunno, think you wanna bone them all the time.” Kyungsoo isn’t making that up. As much as he’s settled into his identity over the years, it doesn’t change the fact that he’d lost friendships in high school over stuff like this.

 

“Oh, you _don’t_ wanna bone Jongin?” Sehun wiggles his eyebrows.

 

“That is not the topic of the conversation,” Kyungsoo sighs.

 

Sehun relents. “Well, I’m straight and _I’m_ not weird around you.”

 

Kyungsoo bites his lip. “Not everyone is like you, Sehun,” he says simply, and leaves it at that.

 

“We don’t even know if Jongin is straight, you know.” Sehun rips a piece of chicken off its skewer and chews thoughtfully. His hair is dyed a stark orange which should look horrible, but it somehow comes off trendy and ~quirky~ on him.

 

Kyungsoo makes a sound that’s both a laugh and a scoff. “Sehun, be a good friend and don’t get a gay kid’s hopes up.” He pats Sehun’s candy-coloured bed hair fondly. “I mean, I appreciate the sentiment, but Jongin broke up with his girlfriend literally three weeks ago.”

 

“He could be bi~” Sehun sing-songs, but his voice is still scratchy with fatigue so it cracks in the middle. “And besides, they dated for a month, I think. That’s nothing.”

 

“That is _eternity_ , for a uni student,” counters Kyungsoo. He pauses to sneeze and wonders grudgingly if maybe he is catching Sehun’s stupid cold, after all. “Can we please move on to less depressing conversation topics?”

 

“Sure.” Sehun closes his styrofoam container and bats his eyelashes. “We can talk about how you’re an amazing friend and will do yet another favour for me.”

 

Kyungsoo gets nervous. “Excuse me?”

 

“So you know how Jongin’s from New York?”

 

“Yes?”

 

Sehun burps. It smells like chicken. “Well, he’s not going home for break.”

 

“What?” Kyungsoo idly pulls a scrap paper off of Sehun’s desk and starts folding a paper airplane. “But it’s Christmas.”

 

“It’s too far.” Sehun flops back down into his blankets, bouncing against the mattress springs. He is so tall, his feet could stick out the other end of the twin bed if he points his toes.

 

“It’s _Christmas_ , though.”

 

Sehun scratches his nose. It’s his nervous habit. Kyungsoo thought only cartoon characters did that until he met Sehun. “Jongin’s family situation is… difficult.”

 

Kyungsoo looks up from his paper plane. “Are you…” He squints. “Is this something you’re allowed to disclose to me?”

 

Sehun sits up again. The sun peeks out for a moment, through the window, hitting his messy orange hair. It’s brighter than a Starburst candy in the sunlight. “I’m not disclosing anything! I don’t even know anything beyond that myself,” Sehun says insistently. “All I know is, for some reason, he’s not exactly on speaking terms with anyone back home. He doesn’t _want_ to go home, but no one’s allowed to stay in residence for the Christmas break so he’s gotta go somewhere.”

 

Kyungsoo glances at Jongin’s side of the room. It’s fairly cluttered but compared to Sehun’s, it always looks immaculate. Sehun has clothes everywhere, loose papers, instant noodle containers… And photos littered across his wall — printed pictures of friends and family. Jongin doesn’t have any of that. Not a single picture of anyone except his dance team, which is pinned on the cork board above his desk.“So where’s he staying?”

 

“With his closest relative. An aunt,” Sehun says. “In Barrie.”

 

Kyungsoo gapes. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

 

“Nope, he’s headed to Barrie tomorrow and he’s seriously dreading it,” says Sehun. “I don’t think he likes this aunt any better than whoever’s home in New York. But it’s the lesser of two evils, I suppose.”

 

Kyungsoo is reeling. _Barrie??? Of all places?_ “So… what is this favour you’re asking me for?”

 

“I think it’ll help a bit with Jongin’s apprehension if maybe he got a ride to Barrie with you, instead of taking the train there by himself,” Sehun shrugs. He starts rummaging the drawer underneath his bed for a sweater and pulls out an ugly grey one that looks too big for him. (Honestly, a fashion tragedy, just like his hair.) “I mean, you’ll be driving up there yourself so why not have him hitch a ride? It’ll just relieve some of his anxiety a bit, I think, if he’s going with a friend, you know.”

 

When he puts it like that, it’s not an unreasonable request. Kyungsoo takes a deep breath. “Well, okay. Is that it?”

 

“And,” Sehun adds quickly. Kyungsoo should’ve known there was more. “The break is two weeks long. That’ll feel like forever for him. He’ll be lonely and stuck with people he hates. So if you could, maybe… hang out with him?” 

 

_Hang out?_ Did Sehun just say That? The mere idea that Sehun thinks Kyungsoo would actually be capable of this, is alarming.

 

“Just a few times over the break! I think it would really help,” Sehun pleads.

 

“Sehun, I can barely look the guy in the face without burning up in the atmosphere!” Kyungsoo exclaims, panicked. He already spends most of his time trying to avoid interacting with Jongin to begin with. It’s hard and awkward and Kyungsoo gets school-boy butterflies just looking at him for too long, but a _whole winter break_ with him would be frightening. Kyungsoo is not an interesting dude. He likes reading essays about paintings and European architecture and clicking through online galleries of art museums. “I’m not, like, sunshine and good vibes. He’ll get bored with me!”

 

Sehun shakes his head, insistently. “Jongin isn’t really like that either! You’ve hung out with us before, you know him. He’s shy and dorky! Plus, he thinks you’re kinda cool, for some reason. Probably ‘cause you’re older and into artsy shit and have a very intense gaze. I dunno, whatever.” He makes a dismissive gesture with his hands, and rolls his eyes. “The point is, you’re good with people, Soo. Pretty easy-going and shit. And it’s just to get Jongin out of his aunt’s house, you know? Something to keep him preoccupied some days until he’s back in Toronto.”

 

Kyungsoo whines loudly and scowls. He has no problem with Jongin, really. He just has a problem with _himself_ when he’s _around_ Jongin. It’s like his chest is squeezing, but he can’t decide if he hates it or never wants it to end. Crushes _suck_. 

 

Sehun looks so desperate, though. God damn it. Why did Kyungsoo have a soul???

 

“Look, Jongin has spent all his life in loud cities, but he’s the type to get lonely easily, even if he doesn’t look like it,” Sehun says, pushing the sleeves up on his sweater. “Barrie is going to feel like the middle of nowhere for him. Please don’t leave him stranded.” He looks at Kyungsoo, expectantly.

 

Stranded. Kyungsoo always associated that word with open water, like being stuck on an island, by yourself. He doesn’t really know how exactly you can feel stranded in the middle of a bustling city, but then again, loneliness can mean so many things for so many people.

 

He sighs, throwing his paper plane right at Sehun’s face. “Alright, fine.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first half hour of the car ride is quiet because Jongin sleeps right through it. Kyungsoo had wanted to beat the traffic, which meant picking up a drowsy Jongin from his dorm room at 7:45am so they could be on the highway by 8. Thankfully yesterday’s snow had been cleared before dawn, and the roads are much clearer than Kyungsoo had been anticipating.

 

They’ve just past Vaughan by the time Jongin has fully woken up, rolling the aches out of his neck and drawing way too much attention to that swirling tattoo. Kyungsoo has to fight every cell in his body to keep his eyes forward.

 

“Good, you’re conscious,” he says cheerily, turning on the radio to listen to some generic pop music. “I was beginning to think you were faking it so you wouldn’t have to make conversation with me.”

 

Jongin’s eyes widen. It’s hilarious how scared he looks. “What—oh no, hyung, I’d never—I mean, I’m just not a morning person—”

 

“Relax, I’m kidding,” Kyungsoo laughs. He dials the volume up on the stereo. He hates pop music, usually, but the noise helps him drive. Plus, he knows Jongin likes it. “You should eat breakfast. There’s still about an hour left before we get there.” He points to the cup holders between them, where Kyungsoo had wrapped up two sandwiches this morning. “I made those yesterday. They’re still pretty fresh.”

 

Jongin picks one up, unwrapping it carefully. “Chicken salad?”

 

“Sehun said you like chicken.”

 

Jongin’s smile is bright and blinding, even if Kyungsoo can only see it in his peripheral. “I do,” he replies, and sinks his teeth into the bread. “I guess I didn’t thank you enough for the ride yet, have I?” He chuckles nervously. “Um. I really appreciate it.”

 

Kyungsoo shrugs, left hand on the steering wheel while the other one twists the lid on his water bottle. He takes a long gulp. “It’s cool, no worries. I live in Barrie too.”

 

“Do you?” Jongin licks some mayonnaise of his thumb. “Sehun made it sound like you’re from some far away farm or something.”

 

Kyungsoo snorts. “I’m sure he did,” he mutters. In the distance, he can see a stream of cars with their brake lights lighted up, and wonders if they’re about to hit some traffic. He really hopes not. He’ll run out of small talk eventually. “I live in Essa, actually. It’s a small town, right beside Barrie. And yeah, there are farms but I don’t live on one.”

 

“You don’t seem like the small-town type, Kyungsoo-hyung,” Jongin comments. The cars in front of themare getting closer, and slower. Kyungsoo sighs, pressing down on the brakes.

 

He laughs again, leaning his head against his arm, propped up against the window. “What does that mean?”

 

“I dunno, I guess I just thought you were like Sehun, born and raised in Toronto.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “Nah, I’m only in Toronto for school. I did used to live in the suburbs closer to the city until about middle school, but then my parents fled up north for ‘a quieter life,’” he says, imitating his mother’s high, lilting voice.

 

Jongin finishes his sandwich and peers out the window. The traffic picks up speed again, a few minutes later. They talk back and forth about their classes for a while, and before they know it, it’s 9:30 and Kyungsoo is exiting the ON-400 N highway. Jongin types the address of his aunt’s house into Kyungsoo’s GPS app.

 

“You’re not even twenty minutes from my house,” Kyungsoo says, when his phone pops up with the directions. “That’s considered pretty close, out here. We’re practically neighbours.” It’s cold out today, but at least the sun has made its way past the clouds. Kyungsoo loves blue skies in the winter, how vibrant it is against the bleakness of the snow around them.

 

“Hopefully I can steal my aunt’s car and get out of the house this break,” Jongin murmurs, his eyes trained steadily on the road in front of them. “My aunt is like a boa constrictor, she squeezes the life right out of you.” He chuckles lightly but it comes out more like a scoff. Man, his hair looks so fluffy. Like the feathers inside a really good pillow. Kyungsoo wants to pet him.

 

“You could…” Kyungsoo chews his lip, trying to sound nonchalant and casual, and not like he’s sweating under his coat, “You could come over for dinner tonight, if you want.”

 

Jongin swivels his head. “Seriously?”

 

“Sure,” Kyungsoo shrugs awkwardly, “My mom always cooks too much, anyways. Only if you want, of course.”

 

“I think I’d like that,” Jongin is grinning, and it’s like the sun has just exploded in Kyungsoo’s Toyota Corolla, “Thanks, hyung.”

 

The road up ahead ends, and Kyungsoo turns into a smaller street lined with cute houses and bare trees with ice frozen over its thin branches. “Don’t sweat it,” Kyungsoo says, shooting Jongin a small smile, and wow, that was a mistake — looking over at him — because Jongin’s still got his messy, morning hair and he looks so _soft_ and the sunlight chose the right moment to hit his cheekbones, and Kyungsoo worries, briefly, if it’s possible to have a heart attack before you’re twenty.

 

He parks the car outside a small, white house with a blue-grey door. The Canadian flag is attached to one of the porch pillars, fluttering lightly with the breeze. It’s pretty, like the rest of the houses on the block, but Jongin is looking at it with sheer dread. On impulse, Kyungsoo squeezes his arm. For comfort? Reassurance? Maybe just because it feels like the right thing to do. Jongin smiles at him through his bangs (hesitantly, adorably) and then steps out of the car to grab his suitcase from the trunk.

 

“So I’ll pick you up for dinner?” Kyungsoo asks, rolling down the passenger side window. He blushes at how rom-com he sounds, and then blushes again for blushing in the first place. 

 

Jongin shakes his head. “No need, I’ll take my aunt’s car,” he replies. “She’ll let me. Anything to get me out of the house.”

 

Kyungsoo gives him another little smile, and a wave, and then he’s speeding back down the open road.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The doorbell rings at exactly 5pm. Kyungsoo is in the kitchen with his mom, checking the soup broth on her chicken noodle mix. “Are we expecting someone?” His mom hollers towards the dining room where his dad is popping the cork off a bottle of white wine.

 

“Nope!”

 

“I am,” Kyungsoo says, smacking his hands on his apron. “The soup needs salt, by the way.”

 

He jogs through the house and opens the front door. Jongin is standing on the other side with a store-bought cheesecake and the most adorable casual dinner attire. He’s wearing a soft blue polo, tucked into dark jeans that are fitted and cuffed. What makes Kyungsoo almost melt like hot butter, though, is the way Jongin has pushed his hair back from his forehead, styled up and to the side so his bangs curve up perfectly.

 

“Cute apron,” Jongin remarks, looking Kyungsoo up and down with mild amusement.

 

Kyungsoo quickly fumbles with the apron strings and pulls it off, crumpling it into a ball in his hand. “We—I—was helping my mom. In the kitchen,” Kyungsoo stutters, ears burning. He steps aside so Jongin can come in. “I’ll take the cheesecake. My mom loves this shop, by the way. She’ll be really happy.”

 

Jongin immediately lights up at that and sighs in relief. “That’s good to hear,” he says, eyes curving with his smile, and with his bangs out of his face, Kyungsoo can see just how clear and shimmery his gaze is. It’s like looking into water, with the reflection of the stars on its surface. “I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

 

“Wait, shoes off,” Kyungsoo stops him in the foyer with an apologetic smile. “We’re kind of particular about that.”

 

Jongin dutifully steps out of his loafers, and then follows Kyungsoo into the house. They pass the dining room and Kyungsoo catches him looking up at the ceiling and back down at the dark hardwood. “Your house is… so big,” Jongin says. “I mean, not that I was expecting it to be small! But it’s—really new-looking. And huge.”

 

“Our area is a new development. We were in a much smaller, older house until we moved in here about three years ago,” Kyungsoo explains. “You’ll see a good amount of big homes out here. There’s tons of space to build, unlike the cities.”

 

“I didn’t know you were having a friend over today, Kyungsoo.” Kyungsoo’s dad has settled into one of the dining room chairs, scrolling through news articles on his iPad. He extends a hand out to Jongin, who shakes it earnestly, then glances back at Kyungsoo. “He’s a friend, right?”

 

Kyungsoo promptly wants to _die_. His heart jumps so high up into his throat, he thinks he might choke. Jongin raises his eyebrows. “Yes, dad, a friend,” Kyungsoo tries to sound casual, but he ends up sounding breathless, like he’s just run a marathon. He shoots his dad a look that screams: _Don’t out me, father_ , but his dad is dense and doesn’t catch it.

 

Thankfully, Jongin seems just as dense. “This is Jongin. From uni,” Kyungsoo introduces quickly. “He’s from New York but staying in town for the break so I invited him over.”

 

“New York?” His dad looks excited. Oh, boy. “Like, the city? You know, I used to live there myself—”

 

Kyungsoo tugs Jongin’s elbow. “Yup, yup, the good ol’ days,” Kyungsoo mutters. “We’ll be right back.”

 

He hauls Jongin away. “My dad rambles like there’s no tomorrow, so feel free to just smile and nod and look interested,” Kyungsoo whispers to him. Before Jongin can say anything, they’ve made it to the kitchen. His mom is transferring mashed potatoes into a clean bowl when she looks up.

 

“Oh!” She licks potato off her finger, then sets her hands on her hips. “We have guests!”

 

“Just one guest, actually,” Kyungsoo says. “Jongin’s a school friend. He’s lonely so I told him to eat dinner with us.”

 

Jongin looks startled. Kyungsoo’s mom laughs brightly. “Well, the Do family is pretty good at curing loneliness,” she takes the soup off the stove and stirs it, giving Jongin a grin over her shoulder. “You from out of town, Jongin?”

 

“Y-yeah. New York City. But I hope to stay in Toronto, or just Canada in general, even after I graduate.”

 

Kyungsoo’s mom makes an impressed noise. “Very nice,” she says. “Whatcha studying?”

 

“Kinesiology. I want to work with athletes.”

 

“Science field,” she nods, approvingly. She’d wanted Kyungsoo to be a doctor like his older brother, Seungsoo. But, well, Kyungsoo went a different path. “That’s a good field. I pushed Kyungsoo to pursue medicine but he was always dead set on art history. Took him to too many museums, as a kid.” She makes a teasing face at her son, and Kyungsoo rolls his eyes.

 

“On a much more interesting note, Jongin brought cheesecake from the shop you really like, mom,” Kyungsoo says, popping it into the fridge so it stays cold. “Can we eat now?”

 

“Yeah, go call your brother,” she replies, and then hands Jongin the pot of chicken noodle soup. “Jongin, could you take that into the dining room for me, please?”

 

“S-Sure,” he mumbles, hobbling uncertainly out of the kitchen. 

 

Kyungsoo gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back,” he tells him, before running up the stairs to his brother’s room.

 

Seungsoo’s door is closed, so Kyungsoo knocks once and then throws it open. His brother is lying on his stomach, on the bed, chatting away into his cell phone with a flushed grin and looking like an absolute teenager. He jumps back violently when he hears Kyungsoo stomp in.

 

“I’m on the phone!” he whines.

 

Kyungsoo crosses his arms. “Why don’t you two ever just FaceTime, instead of wasting all your long-distance minutes?” Seungsoo has a girlfriend over in Vancouver, where he lives. Things are apparently ~getting serious~ between them, according to his mother, although she’s just itching for grandkids nowadays.

 

“Get out, brat,” his brother throws a pillow at him, and Kyungsoo catches it with one hand.

 

“It’s dinner time, hyung,” Kyungsoo says. “We’ll eat without you if you don’t come down.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Seungsoo waves him away, rolling over on his stomach.

 

Kyungsoo throws the pillow at his butt. “By the way, I have a friend from school over, so be nice to him.”

 

Seungsoo immediately sits up and squints at his brother with the hawk-eyed concentration he uses when stitching up patients in the ER. Kyungsoo frowns at him. 

 

“A friend?” Seungsoo asks, grinning, hand over the mic on his phone, “Or a… _friend_?”

 

“Why is it so hard for you guys to believe I’m capable of platonic relationships?” Kyungsoo mutters dryly, but his cheeks go pink against his will.

 

“Then what’re you so worked up about?” Seungsoo argues playfully. Kyungsoo flips him off and jogs back down stairs, his brother’s laughter trailing behind him.

 

Downstairs, Jongin is shuffling into a chair as Kyungsoo’s dad pours him a glass of wine. “Already trying to get him drunk, dad?” Kyungsoo says, sliding into the seat beside Jongin, who still looks nervous and awkward, but at least his shoulders are less tense. He accepts the glass of wine with two hands, like a proper Korean, and Kyungsoo catches his mom looking on with an impressed smile as she portions the soup.

 

His dad just laughs. “Maybe I am.”

 

“He’s not legal yet, you know,” Kyungsoo comments, sipping his wine lightly. He doesn’t like the texture of wine, not as much as his parents do, and it tends to give him a headache. “You’re promoting underage drinking, dad.”

 

“Really?” his dad says, eyeing Jongin up and down. He isn’t even subtle about it. His gaze lingers on the thin black inking on Jongin’s neck. “You aren’t Kyungsoo’s age? Or… older?”

 

“I’m a freshman,” Jongin replies sheepishly.

 

“My, you’re tall,” Kyungsoo’s mom remarks. She hands them each steaming bowls of soup. It smells amazing and ten times better than the crap in their dorm cafeteria. “When do you turn nineteen?”

 

“In January,” answers Jongin. 

 

That’s news to Kyungsoo. “Hey, I’m born in January too.”

 

“I know,” Jongin says, scratching his neck self-consciously. He stirs his soup. Kyungsoo is about to ask him how exactly he knows Kyungsoo’s birthday???? but his dad cuts in first.

 

“Well, January’s just around the corner. That’s old enough,” his dad interjects. Jongin gives the wine an experimental sniff. Kyungsoo looks at him encouragingly. “Try it, you’ll like it,” he tells him. “It’s sweeter than beer.” Beer is all they drink, back at school. (With the occasional shot of cheap vodka and orange juice to chase.)

 

Jongin takes a sip and his expression lights up. “It’s nice,” he says, surprised. Kyungsoo’s dad passes Jongin the mashed potato spoon, and Jongin helps himself to two big spoonfuls. He takes Kyungsoo’s plate afterwards, plopping down a big serving for him. “More?” he asks Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo has to tear his eyes away from Jongin’s pouty lips. They look impossibly soft, smooth, pillowy—

 

“N-no,” Kyungsoo coughs. “That’s good, thanks.”

 

“Where’s Seungsoo?” his mom cuts in. “I thought you went up to get him.”

 

“I did, but he’s on the phone with his girlfriend,” Kyungsoo mutters.

 

Just then, Seungsoo marches down the stairs, striding into the dining room. He sits at the head of the table. That’s his spot, whenever he’s home. (Kyungsoo went through a jealous phase, when he was younger, but he got over it as he grew up. Seungsoo was born a golden child. Relatives are all over him at family functions. Kyungsoo doesn’t envy it at all anymore.)

 

“So you’re Kyungsoo’s friend,” Seungsoo offers his hand to Jongin, and Jongin shakes it. “How exactly did that happen?” He ruffles Kyungsoo’s hair into a mess. “He looks ten times cooler than you, Kyungsoo.”

 

Jongin is smiling, but he hides it behind a spoonful of soup. Kyungsoo glares at his hyung. “We have a mutual friend,” he mumbles, fussing with his hair until it’s in place again.

 

“Kyungsoo-hyung is pretty cool himself,” Jongin offers. He looks shy under so much attention and it is the most endearing thing Kyungsoo has ever seen. “He always buys us drinks and food.”

 

Seungsoo, like their dad, thought Jongin was older. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and has to defend his hyung status all over again. (“I’m not short, Jongin’s just tall!”) Seungsoo also takes a liking to Jongin’s neck tattoo. Jongin explains, briefly, that it’s a flower — a gladiolus — but doesn’t say anything else. Seungsoo nudges their mom. “I’ve been thinking of getting a neck tattoo too, mom. What do you think?”

 

Their mom scoffs. “You wouldn’t survive the pain.”

 

“I’m a doctor!” Seungsoo exclaims.

 

“Doesn’t change the fact that you were a cry baby after every needle,” Kyungsoo mutters. His brother kicks him under the table, and Kyungsoo retaliates by raising his fork to stab him, but Seungsoo scoots away just in time.

 

“Don’t be so violent around our guest, boys,” their mom sighs. She gives Jongin a weary smile. “I hope you stay for dessert, Jongin. I made butter tarts. It’ll go great with your cheesecake.”

 

“Mom, they don’t have butter tarts in the States,” Kyungsoo informs her, because Jongin looks confused for a second.

 

“Well, then, he has come to the right place, hasn’t he?” she says. “Would you like to try a Canadian delicacy, Jongin?”

 

Jongin nods, eyes lit up; bright, crescent-shaped, a beautiful mocha brown, like the perfect cup of hot chocolate. “That sounds great.” He fits in so seamlessly all of a sudden, at the family dinner table. The sight of him — shy, but amused, with a reluctant fondness sitting at the edges of his careful smile — it feels, inexplicably, natural. And Kyungsoo feels juvenile for the suddenly overwhelming urge to want to know everything about him; to fold him up and keep him. A surge of attraction ripples through his stomach, squeezing his gut with an iron fist, and Kyungsoo realizes he is so, so screwed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I am stuffed,” Jongin exhales, bouncing onto Kyungsoo’s bed. He falls back into the mattress, hands folded over his torso, looking satisfied. “I think I ate too many butter tarts, my stomach has expanded three inches.” He laughs and pats his ( stomach, and Kyungsoo’s cheeks burn because Jongin’s shirt has untucked itself, revealing a smooth strip of skin right above his jeans.

 

“Feel free to take some home with you,” Kyungsoo says, not trusting himself to sit down on the bed beside him. He straddles his desk chair instead, leaning his arms on the back rest. “My mom makes them all the time.”

 

“I like your family,” Jongin says suddenly. He pulls himself upright and his eyes are shining. (How do they _do_ that???) They’re perfect and they sparkle and they turn Kyungsoo’s bones to mush whenever Jongin’s gaze is set on him. “Your parents…” he plays with his gelled hair. It’s the perfect mix of styled and messy. Very James Dean. “… they’re nice. Really nice.”

 

“They pester, though,” Kyungsoo cringes. “You’d like them less if you were their kid.”

 

Jongin folds his legs up onto the bed. His toes wriggle in his socks. “Actually, I think I’m jealous of you, hyung,” he murmurs, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. “My mom’s so… different. Than yours.”

 

Kyungsoo licks his lips. They’re dry. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to say anything. Jongin never talks about home. Kyungsoo wonders, not for the first time, what sort of secrets Jongin has left in New York City. But it’s probably not Kyungsoo’s business to wonder that. “Do you have siblings?” he asks instead. “You can have Seungsoo-hyung, if you want. I won’t miss him.”

 

Jongin laughs this time. “I have two sisters. Both older,” he replies. He looks up from his fidgety hands. “The younger one lives in Europe, though. She married a German guy.”

 

“Are you close with them?” asks Kyungsoo. He rolls his desk chair, lightly, back and forth across the hardwood. Jongin’s cologne is floating in the air and Kyungsoo is momentarily distracted by the fact that his bedsheets will probably smell like Jongin, even after he’s left.

 

“I talk to my eldest sister at least once a week, over text,” Jongin says. “Mainly updates about her kids. I used to babysit my niece and nephew all the time in high school. I miss them sometimes.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and swipes through some pictures. “This is them,” he flips the screen around for Kyungsoo to see. It’s an adorable picture of a little girl with a baby in her lap. The girl has Jongin’s olive skin. Even the curve of her smile is the same.

 

“She looks like you,” Kyungsoo says. “Really cute.”

 

Jongin pockets his phone again, looking pleased. “My sister wants to raise them in Seoul, since her husband is always away there on business trips, anyways,” he shares. “I told her she should. Korea’s beautiful.”

 

Kyungsoo perks up in his chair. “You’ve been?”

 

“Twice,” Jongin nods. “Once in elementary school, once in middle school. I’ve been thinking of going again this summer.” He chuckles lightly. “But maybe I should learn more Korean first.”

 

“I’ve never been,” Kyungsoo admits. He’s always wanted to go, though. It’s just most of his close family lives in North America already, so his parents have never had the urge to visit.

 

“What! Really?” Jongin looks shocked. “But… you speak so well.”

 

Kyungsoo laughs. “That’s because I was sent to Korean school on Saturdays. Both my mom and dad are second-gen. They were born here, in Canada. So were all their siblings,” he explains, carding his fingers through his hair absently. He’s due for a touch-up on his dye job soon. The black roots are starting to grow into the brown. “My parents grew up speaking it so they made sure that we learned it too. I speak better than Seungsoo-hyung.”

 

Jongin plays with a loose thread on his sock, smiling softly. Kyungsoo can really smell his cologne, at this distance. It’s woody with hints of citrus and it makes Kyungsoo’s head swirl. “You should speak it more. Maybe I’ll learn,” he chuckles.

 

“Hmm, should I?” Kyungsoo teases, in Korean.

 

“You should,” Jongin hops off the bed and starts pacing Kyungsoo’s room. His eyes land on the two, large bookshelves beside the window. “And maybe I’ll take you to Korea with me. We can sight-see. You can translate everything.” He grins at Kyungsoo over his shoulder, while Kyungsoo pretends that comment didn’t just shut down his brain for a hot minute. (He knows Jongin is probably just kidding, but the thought of vacationing together, however far-fetched, still sends Kyungsoo’s mind to impossible fantasies.)

 

Jongin looks back at the bookshelves, scanning the spines with a finger. “Not a lot of novels,” he comments. “Are these like, textbooks?” He pulls one randomly off the shelf and cracks it open.

 

“Some of them,” Kyungsoo stands up, peering over Jongin’s shoulder to see which book he grabbed. It’s a hardcover copy of one of Kyungsoo’s favourites, a collection of Michelangelo’s works. “This one’s honestly more of a coffee table kind of book. More pictures than text.”

 

Jongin thumbs through the pages, before placing it back carefully. Kyungsoo has never stood this closely to Jongin before, and the height difference is suddenly much more apparent than he realized. He’s about eye-level with Jongin’s chin. Jongin tilts his neck down when he shoots Kyungsoo another smile. “You really like Italian art, don’t you,” he notices, picking out another book. (Leonardo Da Vinci, this time.)

 

“In high school, I went on a 10-day trip to Europe with my language class,” Kyungsoo explains, pointedly keeping his eyes on the book and not on Jongin’s face because it’s distracting. “Italy had been my favourite stop on the trip.” He pulls the sleeves down on his sweater, fidgeting. He usually gets anxious when people touch his library, but Jongin handles Kyungsoo’s books with so much care, cradling the spine and turning each page gently like it’s a feather. “When I was in Vatican City, I saw Michelangelo’s paintings on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with my own eyes, and fell a little bit in love.”

 

Kyungsoo presses his hands into his stomach, feeling slightly embarrassed. (Sehun would totally laugh at him if he were here.) “Sounds kinda dumb, I know,” he murmurs, rubbing his neck. It feels hot and flushed.

 

Jongin is quiet for a moment, but when Kyungsoo looks up at him, he’s staring right at Kyungsoo with a soft expression that Kyungsoo can’t quite read. Jongin closes the book and looks away. “Not at all. I always thought it was funny how… how easy it is, sometimes, to fall in love,” he says, pressing his lips together as he eyes the bookshelf up and down one last time. “Books and movies make it out to be this grand thing but…” he pauses, exhales, “… I think a lot of the time, it’s something that happens without us noticing, until one day you’re just staring at someone — o-or something — and you feel it. You feel like it might be love.” He looks shy suddenly. “Or maybe that’s just me.”

 

“No,” Kyungsoo shakes his head. His voice feels wobbly, like his knees. “I agree. I-I’m the same way, I think.” The first time Kyungsoo walked into the Louvre in Paris, he felt like he was soaring. Even when he’d gotten separated from his classmates and had been lost in the courtyard of marble statues on the first level of the Richelieu Wing, his head spun from the beauty, wrapped up in an impossible mixture of excitement and serenity. It felt immediate and natural, like he was always meant to feel that way.

 

Jongin grins and walks over to Kyungsoo’s window to peek at the view. It isn’t much, but it does look nice at this time of the day, from evening to dusk. The sun has just started to set, and in the distance, the orange-y pink light stretches across the expanse of snow-covered evergreens and open field.

 

“Well, you don’t see that in the city,” Jongin murmurs, his mouth hanging open just the slightest as he takes in the view of the forest.

 

“As weird as it sounds, huge trees are near the top of my list of ‘things I miss when I’m at school’,” Kyungsoo says, leaning his head against the window, beside Jongin.

 

“That’s not weird,” Jongin says earnestly. His woody, citrusy cologne is so strong. Or maybe it’s just Kyungsoo’s brain is intoxicated by it — and by Jongin’s warm voice and warmer gaze. The look in his deep, brown eyes always seems so sincere, as if every one of his smiles has the kindness and the energy to make Kyungsoo feel important, no matter what he’s saying.

 

Kyungsoo’s breath starts to fog up the window. He swipes at the glass with his sleeve. Jongin sighs, “I… it’s pretty late now. I should probably… head back to my aunt’s.” He turns around, doing the pouting thing he does without realizing he’s doing it. Kyungsoo wants to reach over with two fingers and turn up the edges of Jongin’s mouth.

 

But, of course, he doesn’t. He sighs too, and tries for a sympathetic smile. “Listen, um,” he says, his voice an octave or two higher than it should be. “If you’re still looking for ways to get out of the house, maybe we can hang out again tomorrow—“

 

“Really?” Jongin’s face splits into another grin, ten times brighter than the sunset outside. “You’re not busy, are you? I don’t want to make you cancel any plans or anything…”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head adamantly. “Nah, it’s winter break. I’m really not busy at all,” he says, trying not to awkwardly fidget and look even more nervous than he feels. He pulls his sleeves over his hands. “Um, so, yeah. Anyways. I can pick you up tomorrow around noon-ish. I can, um, show you the Barrie Waterfront. And maybe grab some hot cocoa or something. Only—only if you want, obviously—”

 

“Hyung,” Jongin clasps a firm hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder and squeezes. His eyes are really twinkling. That can’t be a product of Kyungsoo’s imagination because even in his imagination, Kyungsoo doesn’t think he could dream up something that perfect. It’s like falling into a pool and never wanting to resurface. “I’d love to go with you.”

 

Can Jongin feel Kyungsoo’s insides thrumming with nerves and butterflies? Kyungsoo waits for Jongin’s hand to drop, but it doesn’t until Kyungsoo subtly steps back towards the door because he needs space to _breathe_. “O-okay,” Kyungsoo squeaks, managing a little nod. “Sounds good. I’ll walk you out, then.”

 

Once they’re downstairs, Jongin immediately goes into the living room to say goodbye and to thank Kyungsoo’s parents, both in English and stilted Korean. Kyungsoo’s mom and dad both chuckle a bit, but reply in turn, and his mom even scoops him up into a quick hug. Jongin looks startled, before hugging back. “You’re welcome any time, Jongin,” she tells him in Korean and Kyungsoo is about to translate, but he catches the look in Jongin’s eyes and the radiance in his smile, and Kyungsoo knows he’s understood.

 

He walks Jongin all the way outside, down the driveway, to the car. Jongin bites his lower lip, looking nervous. “Y-your mom… she…”

 

“Oh, sorry. Should’ve warned you she’s a hugger,” Kyungsoo laughs. “That means she likes you, though. Especially since she hugged you on the first meeting.”

 

Jongin’s blush blossoms across his cheeks, visible even in the evening light. “You really do have a great family, Kyungsoo-hyung,” he says quietly. Kyungsoo realizes, achingly, that Jongin really needs more hugs. He deserved to be hugged every day.

 

Without thinking, Kyungsoo steps forward and hugs him right there. It’s super quick, and perhaps not the straightest thing to do. But Jongin’s strong, broad chest seems to melt right into Kyungsoo, for those two brief seconds. Then Kyungsoo is pulling away before he gets too caught up in the feeling of Jongin’s arms around him.

 

“Mom was serious, you know,” Kyungsoo says as Jongin pops open the car door. “You’re welcome any time.”

 

“Thanks, hyung,” Jongin replies.

 

“Drive safe.” Kyungsoo waves him off, and then runs back up the driveway and into the house. His heartbeat is still ~pounding~ when he flops face first onto his bed, which — just as he suspected — smells musky and refreshing. Woodsy and citrusy. It smells just like Jongin. 

 

And just like Kyungsoo letting a piece of his heart go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kyungsoo has two best friends. 

 

There’s Sehun, who Kyungsoo met last year, in his first year. They shared a random, obscure history elective together which made sense for Kyungsoo, but not for computer science major, Sehun, who — as it turned out — was killing two birds with one stone by: a) fulfilling a humanities credit requirement and b) trying to get close to a hot girl in that class named Wendy Son. (It didn’t work.)

 

Sehun is Kyungsoo’s best friend at school. And although Sehun is a bit of a snobby genius kid who skipped a grade to get into university a year early — and who couldn’t be more different than Kyungsoo, in terms of interests and hobbies — their shared deadpan sense of humour proved to go a long way in striking up some kind of weird bond.

 

Kyungsoo’s other best friend — his first best friend — is Baekhyun Byun, from middle school. Baekhyun had been the only other Korean kid in Kyungsoo’s seventh grade class, when Kyungsoo first moved to Barrie. And Baekhyun, a non-stop chatterbox and complete shit starter even from the age of thirteen, immediately pounced on Kyungsoo at recess and demanded his friendship. (Kyungsoo, eventually, gave in.)

 

It’s been a full day since he’s come back home from Toronto, and Kyungsoo has totally forgotten to call Baekhyun. Around midnight, several hours after Jongin has left, he remembers and reaches for his phone on his bedside table.

 

Baekhyun answers on the first ring. “I’m assuming you just got back from Toronto now?” he says, as soon as he picks up.

 

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “I got back fourteen hours ago, actually,” he replies. “I just remembered to check in on you about ten seconds ago. Sorry not sorry.”

 

“What a great friend you are,” Baekhyun mutters, unamused. He sounds distracted, like he’s playing League of Legends or something. He most likely is. Kyungsoo can kind of hear it in the background. “You know, I’ve been bored out of my goddamn mind the past three days, waiting for your winter break to start.”

 

Kyungsoo scoffs. “It’s not my fault your exams ended earlier than mine, dip shit.”

 

“Whatever, I found a new best friend for today,” says Baekhyun. “I like him better than you, I think. I’m not totally decided yet, but he’s definitely a contender to replace you on the number one best friend status. Mainly because he’s really good at League.”

 

A voice comes through the speaker, faintly. “Thanks, Baek,” it says.

 

“Holy shit, is that Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo laughs, sitting up in bed. Chanyeol is one of Baekhyun’s classmates who Kyungsoo has met twice in the past year. He is also _smitten_ with Baekhyun in a questionably platonic way. (Baekhyun half-heartedly denies this but Kyungsoo’s professional opinion is about 85% sure Chanyeol isn’t straight.) “Is he at your house right now?”

 

Baekhyun clicks his tongue. “Why? Ya jealous?”

 

“Why would I be jealous? You know _I_ also have another best friend besides you, right?” Kyungsoo leans back into his pillows, folding his arms.

 

“Ah, yes. Your tall, pale friend who has anime character body proportions,” Baekhyun hums. “Jihoon, or something?”

 

“Sehun.”

 

“Right, exactly,” Baekhyun mutters. Kyungsoo pictures him squatting at his desk chair, staring with wide-eyed concentration into his huge desktop monitor as his avatar runs across the screen. “Damn it, Chanyeol! Pick up the pace! I’m dying out here!” There’s a flurry of tapping across a keyboard.

 

Kyungsoo clears his throat. “So, is Chanyeol staying the night, then?”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“Baek, he lives in Kitchener. That’s like, two hours away.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, he’s sleeping over, so what?” Baekhyun says. “Two guys can have sleepovers without it being weird. Right, Chanyeol?”

 

Chanyeol’s response is delayed and stuttered. “S-sure. I mean, yeah. Completely.”

 

Kyungsoo sighs. “Am I on speaker, Baekhyun?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“You are, Kyungsoo,” replies Chanyeol meekly.

 

Kyungsoo face palms into his knees. He was going to give Baekhyun another lecture about the dangers of leading someone on, but he knows the lecture will go right over Baekhyun’s head, anyways.

 

“So what’s new with you, Soo?” Baekhyun says. “Wanna hang tomorrow?”

 

“Uh,” says Kyungsoo. “Maybe the day after tomorrow? I… can’t. Tomorrow.”

 

Baekhyun snorts, unconvinced. He is often in denial that Kyungsoo manages to have other friends besides himself. “What, you have plans already?”

 

Kyungsoo’s toes curl into his blanket. After his shower, he’d changed his duvet cover for a fresh one because if he smelled Jongin’s cologne all night, there’s no way he’d be able to fall asleep. “I’m hanging out with a friend.”

 

Baekhyun makes an incredulous noise. “What friend?”

 

“Just a friend,” Kyungsoo mutters. “From school.”

 

“That’s not Jihoon?”

 

“Sehun. And no.”

 

There’s an unsettling pause, and then Baekhyun’s low, playful laugh filters into Kyungsoo’s ear. “Do Kyungsoo, do you have a hot date?” asks Baekhyun. His voice dips mischievously; the same tone he used to use whenever he was pitching dumb prank ideas that would get him (and sometimes Kyungsoo) into detention in high school.

 

“No!” Kyungsoo says hastily.

 

“Is it a girl?” Chanyeol chimes in.

 

“He’s into dick, Yeol,” Baekhyun says helpfully.

 

Chanyeol coughs, like he’s just swallowed a fly. “O-oh! Oh. Oh, cool! Y-yeah, okay. That’s cool.” (Seriously, Kyungsoo has seen light-up neon signs more subtle than Chanyeol.) 

 

“No, it’s not a girl. And no, it’s not a date,” Kyungsoo huffs.

 

“But it’s a hot guy,” Baekhyun repeats, very focused on this detail.

 

Kyungsoo ignores him. “He’s Sehun’s roommate and he’s in Barrie for the break but he’s staying with family he doesn’t get along with so I’m just—like, keeping him company. Being a good hyung.”

 

“Oh, sure,” Baekhyun barks out again in laughter. “Sounds like you’re already whipped.”

 

“I’m not,” Kyungsoo frowns, but there’s an anchor sinking deep into the ocean of his stomach that reminds him how wrong he is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jongin is sitting on his aunt’s porch when Kyungsoo drives up to the curb. He jumps to his feet with a grin and Kyungsoo unlocks the door.

 

“I could have rang the doorbell, you know,” Kyungsoo says, as Jongin hastily straps his seatbelt on. “You didn’t have to wait out in the cold.”

 

“No, no, it stinks inside,” Jongin mutters. “Kinda like stale cheese and… pure dread.” He smells like he’s fresh from a shower, his black hair unstyled and flopping in place just above his eyes. He looks softer and younger than he did yesterday. “Plus, I didn’t want to keep you waiting. Or for my aunt… to, um, meet you. Boa constrictor, remember?”

 

Kyungsoo peers over at his blind spot then pulls away from the curb. “Trust me, I have plenty of experience with difficult relatives,” he says, thinking about the handful of extended family that avoids him during family get-togethers because they think Kyungsoo is ‘still going through his rebellious phase’ and will magically outgrow liking dudes like he’s outgrown his old clothes.

 

But he keeps that to himself for now and tries to sound lighthearted. “And anyways, I could probably go head to head with a boa constrictor,” he jokes. 

 

Jongin’s head tips back in laughter. “I’d love to see that,” he says delightedly.

 

It’ll take at least twenty minutes to drive to the waterfront so Kyungsoo turns the stereo on, and lets the music play at low volume, just loud enough to fill in the silence. He hums quietly to the hook of a Drake song before Jongin speaks again.

 

“My family is complicated, hyung,” he says. Kyungsoo’s eyebrow perks up. “It’s not as… pleasant and wholesome. As yours.”

 

“Everyone is complicated, Jongin,” Kyungsoo purses his lips. “We’re not always like that, my family. We’re not our best selves all the time. Each day has it owns problems.” He taps his finger against the steering wheel. “But if people truly care, they’ll stick around even when you’re not your best self. And they’ll learn to love every part of you.”

 

Jongin blinks, his jaw tight. Kyungsoo wants to hug him again. “What if…” says Jongin gingerly, “… what if they don’t? You know, stick around.” Kyungsoo sneaks another glance at him. His expression is tense, eyebrows furrowed. Kyungsoo wonders why in the world anyone would ever let Jongin feel lonely. 

 

He doesn’t know what the best advice to give him is, so he settles for being honest. “Well, I guess, eventually you just find people that do.”

And maybe Kyungsoo is imagining it, but from the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees Jongin’s smile — reluctant, warm, hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: as always, thanks for reading ^_^ if you wanna say hello or chat, here are my links: https://listography.com/wanderingheart
> 
> happy new year!! <3


	5. cloud 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jongin's beautiful stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: found this randomly in my documents so i thought i'd add it to the wip wrap up! it's inspired by the opening scene in david mitchell's novel "number9dream"

"This is a simple matter. Perhaps you've seen me, perhaps you haven't. I've seen you, though. You sit in the large armchair by the window, with a book and a small Americano. You put in just enough milk for the colour to turn a shade lighter than black, but you skip cream and sugar. You read for approximately thirty-three minutes, thirty-five if you've a hit particularly good scene in your book. After that, you rise. You'll buy another Americano, large this time, and black. But you don't drink it. It's for your boss. Or are you your own boss? I haven't worked that out yet. But then you leave. You cross the street and wave at the doorman in front of the office building. Then you disappear behind the glass doors and my morning with you ends. Perhaps you've seen me, perhaps you haven't. My matter is simple, though. Can I ask what your name is?"

 

Or something like that. Jongin frowns, unsatisfied. Well, it's still a work in progress. The cafe bell tinkles, and in the man walks; 8 AM, not a minute off. Jongin follows him with his eyes and immediately scraps the latest version of his hello. He'll draft another one later. Small Americano, says the man, and Jongin mouths the words along with him under his breath. The big armchair by the window used to be Jongin's favourite seat but now he leaves it open because the man never sits anywhere else but there. If it's taken, he'll leave and well, Jongin would consider that a colossal loss.

 

One of the baristas comes around to wipe down the little table next to Jongin's. She offers to grab him another cappuccino. He obliges. Put in lots of cream, he tells her silently in his head, and hopes that she somehow hears it. The man is sitting down now. Oh, he's dyed his hair. The pale sunlight reveals a deep, mahogany undertone. It suits him. I like your new hair colour, Jongin says but the man can't hear Jongin's mind from all the way over there.

 

The barista returns with Jongin's cappuccino. He takes a coffee stirrer and tries to make shapes with the white, unfurled ribbon of cream. There's lots of cream, just like he'd asked. He smiles a tiny smile for himself. When he stirs the drink, the steam rising up from the heat thickens and settles on his skin. Good mornings always smell like coffee. They taste like coffee. They look like beautiful strangers in an armchair with the soft sun fanning out from behind their beautiful heads.

 

Perfect mornings, however? Well, Jongin is still working on those. Those exist exclusively in his mind.

 

 


End file.
